


Taron's Birthday Adventures

by DaughterofJafar



Category: Taron Egerton - Fandom
Genre: Almost Sugar Daddy, F/M, Prostitution, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:18:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofJafar/pseuds/DaughterofJafar
Summary: Taron's celebrating his birthday with his mates when he gets a surprise.(Or, where Taron gets an underage prostitute with no place to live for his birthday... And he loves her.)





	1. Finding Bridget

In hindsight, Taron should’ve know his mates were up to something stupid. 

They were all giggly and whispering all night, checking their phones even though the clock on the wall was reading the correct time. 

Taron didn’t care though; it was his birthday and he had just come back from filming the second Kingsman movie. It was time for a night off in a hotel bar. 

Him and his three best friends were sitting around the table, sharing stories as the alcohol slowly got them more and more drunk. Taron could feel his face turn red as he laughed at Jamal’s story about him and his girlfriend a few years back. His head fell back as he let out a deep chest chuckle. 

He run his hands through his hair a few times before reaching for his beer again, frowning as he found it empty. “Ah, that’s no good, innit?” Ryan exclaimed, pounding Taron’s back a little too harshly. “Jamal, get the birthday boy another round, yea?” He asks. 

Taron shook his head, holding his hands up to stop his friend from getting another beer for him. “No, really, I should probably be getting home soon. No need for another drink.”

His friends protest, setting their beers down in the process. “Taron, it’s yer birt’day, mate, ha’e some fun!” 

Taron smiled and allowed his friend to get him another beer. He chuckled along with Ryan, although he wasn’t too sure what was so funny. He laughed harder when Ryan spilt his beer all over himself. 

The Welsh smiled again and took the beer out of Jamal’s hand, placing it on the table before downing the last of his third - no fourth - beer. Taron missed Jamal’s smile to the other boys sitting at the table as he set his empty beer bottle on the table. 

“So, Taron, when’s the last time ya got laid?” 

Taron snorted the drink in his mouth, barely swallowing it all before opening his mouth. “What’s it to ya?” He demanded lightly, shaking his head. 

“So, it’s been a while, right?”

The older shook his head, picking up the full bottle of beer. “Yea, alright, it’s been awhile, yea?” He said, swallowing the bitter liquid. “Why’s it matter?”

Ryan smirked to the other, but shook his head. “Don’t ya think it’s time for a good lay, yea? Get some while yer still young.”

Taron shook his head. “What’do take me for? A wanker?”

Jamal smiled at the three boys at the table. “Yea, you fucking bruv, yea, we do.” Ryan chuckled and nodded his head. “So, we took care of it for ya.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Taron shook his head. “What’jah mean by that?”

Ryan’s smile grew tenfold. “We got you a birt’day gift.”

Taron moaned. “I told you no presents this year!” He said, but there was a smile on his face. “We’re not eight, I don’t need any presents!” 

Jamal smiled widely. “Can’t return this one, mate.” 

Taron’s smile falters. “What’do you mean you can’t return it?”

He shrugs, not helping to answer Taron’s question. “You’ll find out.”

The table as quiet for a few more moments , no one answering Taron’s question, before someone spoke up. “Man, I’m trashed,” he says. Ryan laughs and slides a hotel key car onto the table. “Got ya covered, mate.” 

Jamal laughed and reached his hand out. “Let’s go, boys.”

Taron laughs, but finishes his beer before following his three friends out of the bar and onto an elevator. “You planned this.” He mumbles, head lolling back onto the elevator wall. “You wanted to get me plastered.”

Ryan laughs and nods his head. “That was part of the plan, yea.” Taron looks to Ryan with a confused expression before shaking his head and laughs at nothing particular. 

The lift dings and the doors open, Ryan leading the pack out the door. He hands a key to Jamal. “‘Ere, that’s for us, Ta’on - “ he hiccups - “this one’s yours.”

Taron takes the plastic card out of his friend’s hands, eyes squinting in the bright light of the hallway. “Mine? I’m not bunking with you? Why?”

Jamal snickers and pulls the other two down the hallway. Taron furrows his eyebrows, but continues down the other direction of the hallway, looking for his room. He finds it quickly, sliding his card through the key before signing and dropping onto the bed.

He doesn’t notice that the shower was running or that there was a pair of pants thrown across the room. His eyes adjust to the dimmer lights and rolls onto his stomach. He pulls at his hair and grips the pillow in his hands. 

The water shuts off and Taron shrugs, imagining it to be the room over. He wishes he had the strength to shut the lights off, but he lays in bed, drifting off to sleep. The beers give him a nice buzz he hasn’t had in a long time. Just before he officially falls asleep, a door opens.

He eyes shoot open. No one else has a key, right? Taron sits up in the bed and looks to see a younger girl standing in the doorway of the bathroom. A younger, wet, naked girl…

Taron’s mouth opens and closes more times than he can count. He sits on the bed, blubbering like a fish out of water. “I’m - oh, god, I’m so sorry, I must have the wrong room or sumt’ing.” He flushes like mad, standing up and collecting his phone off the night table, trying not to look at the naked girl in front of him.

“You’re Taron, right?”

The sound of the girl saying his name made the man stop with his hand ghosting the door knob. “You know m’ name?” He asks her, turning slowly and looking at her. His eyes wonder her body before he realizes what he’s doing and looks sharply away. 

She giggles lightly. “Of course, Jamal told me.” 

Taron’s eyes widen comically, looking back to the girl that exited his bathroom. “Jamal?” He asks, looking back to the girl against the wall. 

“Yea, Jamal. Who do you think paid?” She says, stepping closer to the Welsh.

“Paid?” Taron’s pitch rose as she came closer. “Paid for what exactly?” He squeaks and suddenly, it was harder to breathe. 

“To get you laid of course.” The girl says, wrapping her arms around Taron’s shoulders, fingers tugging on his hair. “And I do think you’d be a good fuck.”

Taron yelps as her hand travels down his chest and grabs him below the belt. “Jesus Christ.” He moans. He grabs her hands and takes a step back. “What the fuck?” 

“Shit,” she mumbles, stepping back, running a hand through her long, brown hair. “Did he not tell you?” She practically whispers. 

“No!” Taron almost shouts, “I definitely would have remembered this conversation!” He says, putting his hands up in surrender. 

The girl immediately reaches for the pants on the bed, stepping past Taron. She starts mumbling to herself. “The fucking brute told me he had everything taken care of… Of course he never told him… Where the fuck is my shirt?”

Taron watches as the girl looks for her shirt in his hotel room. It takes him a moment to register what was happening. “Wait - what’s going on? Jamal paid for what?” 

The girl turned to Taron, squeaking when she remembered her chest was bare. Holding her hands up to cover herself, she frowns. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, ‘m a prostitute.” She says, turning to look again for her shirt. She takes the envelope on the table and hands it to Taron, “here.”

“What’s this?” He asks, looking inside.

“The money Jamal gave me.” She says, moving around the bed to look behind it.

Taron’s mouth gaps at the large sum of money sitting inside the envelope. “How much did he pay you?” Taron asks in awe, staring at the wad of cash.

“About a month’s rent. I’m saving up for a flat or somet’ing.” She says, standing up from looking under the bed. Taron gaps at her, eyes wide. He starts mumbling incoherent words before the girl looks at his again. “Listen, can you help find my shirt?”

Taron puts the envelope in his back pocket and starts helping to look for the shirt the girl lost. “‘M name’s Bridget, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Bridget.” She snorts back a laugh, but nods her head in agreement. They continue looking in silence for a few more minutes before Bridget sighs. “Are you sure you wore a shirt?” Taron asks, looking at the girl who still had her arms crossed over her chest. 

She glares. “Yes, I did.” 

“Here,” Taron says, taking off his light flannel. “It’s not much, but it’ll sure as hell be more comfortable than wearing nothing.”

Bridget looks at the shirt unsurly. “I can’t just take your flannel.”

But Taron already had it off, arms opening for Bridget to slide her arms into. He even looked away as to not invade Bridget’s privacy. Bridget slips into it quickly and starts buttoning before Taron turned around.

“Cheers.” She says, rushing for the door.

“Why’re you in such a rush?” Taron found himself asking.

Bridget turns around, wet hair slapping the wall. She gives him a pondering look. “Well, Taron… I thought with Jamal’s payment, I could finally pay my rent on time, now I have to look for more work tonight.”

She says, turning around and twisting the door knob. “Wait!” Taron says, “How old are you?” He blurts out. He shook his head, turning around and running a hand through his hair. “I mean -”  
“‘M nineteen.”

Taron turns around and looks at the young girl. “You’re lying to me.” He says. “You can’t be much over sixteen, you’re too young.”

Bridget flushes angrily. “I’m nineteen, I’m plenty old enough!” She nearly screams. “Why don’t you let me do my own thing, yea?”

“Bridget,” Taron starts, “I know you’re too young.” Bridget doesn’t say anything. “Stay.” Taron says, pointing to the bed. “Keep the money and stay. It’s a win - win. You don’t have to sleep with someone you don’t know and you get to pay yer rent.”

Bridget looks at Taron. “How’d I know you ‘on’t call the cops on me?” 

Taron chuckles, “I promise I won’t. I wouldn’t throw you out like that.”

The young girl nods her head and shuffles to the chair next to the bed, sitting down with an uncomfortable look on her face. Taron sits on the bed, looking at Bridget. They sit in silence for a long time. 

“Why don’t we go to bed?” Taron asks. Bridget shrugs. “Tell me about yourself, Bridget,” Taron asks. 

“‘M a prostitute.”

Taron laughs lightly. “I know that much.”

Bridget sighs. “What else do you wanna know?” 

Blinking Taron just notices her thick British accent. “Where are you from?”

Shifting in her seat, Bridget shrugs. “Lo’don.”

Taron leans back on his hands, looking at the girl sitting across from him. She curled up on the seat, sneakers ratty against the nice plush of the seat. She had skinnies on that looked ripped from wear and tear around the knees and Taron’s green flannel on. Her brown hair dried for the most part and her blue eyes refused to meet his. “No, you’re not.” He says.

“Yea, I ‘m.”

Taron shakes his head. “I’ve ne’er heard yer accent b’fore. It’s fake.”

The girl huffs. “How’d you know?” She asks, an American accent peaking through. “I’ve convinced almost everyone.”

“You mean the people that wanna fuck ya?” Bridget flushes, nodding her head. “America?” She nods. “That’s nice, whaddya doin’ here?”

Bridget looks out the small part of the window not covered by the blinds. “My dad’s dead.” Taron’s heart drops. “He was from here, we moved just before he died.” Taron stays quiet, not wanting to interrupt her. “Momma’s been gone for awhile, it’s just me. Dad left me some money, but not enough to keep me up. I dunno what else to do, so I’ve been doing this and that for a little bit.”

“I’m so sorry, Bridget.” Taron says. He wants to comfort her, but he didn’t know if she wanted him to. “How, how old are you?”

“I turn seventeen in a few weeks.”

Taron moans and closes his eyes. “You’re not even legal yet.” Bridget ‘mhm’s quietly and I look to her for a moment. “Come ‘ere.” He says, holding his arms out for her. She looks at him before standing up. 

He holds her to his chest when she gets close enough for him to embrace her. “You shouldn’t be doing this.” He whispers. 

She shrugs like it doesn’t bother her. “I get by.”

Taron pulls her onto the bed and pulls and tugs until he covers both of them with the sheets. He holds Bridget close to him and kisses her cheek sweetly. “Go t’ sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”  
Bridget makes a noise of disagreement, but doesn’t move away from Taron’s embrace, quickly falling asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When Bridget wakes up in the morning, she’s alone. “Fuck.” She says, running a hand through her hair and jumping out of the bed like it had scolded her. She looks at the now empty bed and shakes her head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She’s please, though, to find she still had all her clothes she had on last night. She opens the nightstand drawer to find her phone and rushes to the door where Taron must’ve put her shoes. 

She sits on the floor, re - tying her shoelaces. She checks her phone to see it’s ten in the morning. Fuck, she thinks, I lost my other job. She runs a hand through her hair, trying to tame the wide brown curls. She stands up, ready to leave the hotel room before Taron or the house maids get back.

As she puts her hand on the door knob, she contemplates leaving Taron’s flannel, but shivers at the idea of sneaking out of the hotel naked again. She opens the door and rushes out just to smash into Taron. 

“God! I’m so sorry.” She says, quickly falling onto her knees to help pick up the plate and the scattered eggs thrown across the floor. She flushes a deep red at the fact that she just tried to sneak out of a hotel room and she got caught. 

Taron blinks in shock at seeing Bridget on the ground, trying to pick up bits of egg off the floor. “Don’t worry about it.” Taron says, kneeling down and helping Bridget clean up at the eggs and bacon off the floor. “I’m sorry about yer brea’fast though.” Bridget looks up and gives Taron a pained look, but doesn’t say anything. 

She reaches across Taron to pick up a piece of bacon that was thrown a bit further than everything else. Once in her hand, she turns to throw it on the plate. She starts turning to another piece of bacon a few few away when Taron grips her wrist harshly. He looked as though he was examining it with careful eyes. “Bridget -”

The younger pulls her hands back roughly and stands up, pulling her jeans up to her hips, not looking at Taron. “Yea, um, thanks for, last night… Bye.” She rushes off faster than Taron can comprehend, making his head spin. 

“Get back ‘ere.” Taron demands, standing up with the plate and trashed food. Noticing Bridget’s wince, Taron lowers his voice. “Please.” He says a little bit kinder than the first time. “I just wanna help ya.”

Bridget turns and glares at the older. “I don’t need your help.”

“Please.” Taron whispers, nodding in the direction of their hotel room. Bridget compiles, but doesn’t say a word as she pushes passed Taron. Once the door is open, Bridget rushes to sit on the bed. Taron throws the food away and places the empty plate on the table. He sits on the chair Bridget sat in earlier, elbows leaning against his knees.

Bridget curls up on the bed, arms holding her knees close to her chest. Taron notices for the second time her bruises. First, on her wrist. The coloring suggested it was probably a while ago. Closer to her hand was blueish, but the rest of the bruise - almost up her arm - was turning a strange mixture of yellow and green. 

Taron’s eyes traveled up Bridget’s body, looking for even more bruises she might be trying to hide from him. Bridget’s throat had long, red marks across it, almost like a hand was squeezing too harshly. He shuddered in his seat. 

“You can look all you want, they’re not going away any time soon.” 

Taron looks to the younger girl. “They beat you?”

She shakes her head. “Not all of them,” she starts not meeting Taron’s eyes, “some are... Nicer than others. Some just like it rougher.” She says, looking to Taron with eyes glazing over from unshed tears. “I’m used to it. If they rough me up too much, they have to pay extra, so I don’t get hit too bad.”

Clenching his jaw, Taron stands up. He walks to the bed, fingers pulling Bridget’s chin up so her could look at her neck. “This one seems fresh. Did he hurt you?” He westions, looking at the large, red handprint covering most of the young girl’s throat. 

“I’m fine, Taron.”

Next, Taron saw Bridget’s blue cheek. “They hit you pretty hard…” It was silent for a long time and Taron wasn’t expecting any response. 

Taron had removed his hand from Bridget’s chin and sat next to her on the bed. They continued in silence for a long time. “Why do you do this to yerself, Bridget?” Taron breaks the uncomfortable silence. He looks to her, but she doesn’t look to Taron until what he says seemed to sink into her mind. 

Bridget looks sharply at Taron. “I need money for food, Taron. I’m saving up for a flat. No one will hire a sixteen year old, they say I’m too young. So, I do the next best thing.”

Taron winces at the idea of Bridget selling herself out to older men. Men who beat her and mistreat her. No one should have to be put through that, especially a sixteen year old who just lost her father recently. “Don’t ya have family you could go to?”

Bridget glares at him, not moving from the bed. “My parent are dead. I’m not gonna go through my whole family tree for you, Taron! I can handle myself. I - I have for a few months now.” She says, blue eyes eyes turning a light greenish color. “Please, just leave me alone.” She pleads. The tears in her eyes come back and Taron was afraid that she was going to start crying in front of him. 

She stands up to leave the room, but Taron stops her, holding her wrist lighty in his own hand. “Let me help. No strings attached.” He pleads, hoping that he could get the teenager to look at him.

Bridget shakes her head, not turning to look at him. She continues looking at the door, trying to work herself up the courage she needs to leave Taron alone in the hotel room. “I don’t need your pity -”

“It’s not, it’s not.” Taron says, standing up from the empty bed. “I’m away of’en and I need a housekeeper of sorts.” He rushes out, hoping this would get her to stay with him. “You could live with me. Cook and clean for me when I’m ‘ere in London, yea? When I’m away, you have the flat to yerself. You can do whate’er you want. Please, don’t go back on the streets. I have an extra bedroom for ya, I can buy you clothes, I can keep you safe. Please, Bridget, don’t do this to yerself.”

Bridget ponders for a moment. She turns around in Taron’s grip and watches his pleading green eyes for a moment. After a few silent moments, Taron drops his arm, hoping Bridget wouldn’t turn away this time. “What do you mean you’re away a lot?” She asks, sitting back down on the bed. 

Taron gives her a small smile which she returns. “I’m an actor.” He says, turning to her. 

Squinting, Bridget shakes her head. “I thought you looked a little familiar. Do I know anything you’re in? Anything good?” She jokes. Taron watches as her nose scrunches when she giggles a bit.

“Uh,” Taron peels his eyes away from Bridget’s blue ones and suddenly remembers what she had asked him. “Sing? Most recently, Kingsman: Golden Circle?”

Bridget hums, crossing her arms over her chest. “Good movies,” she mumbles just under her breath. She looks to taron one more time. “No strings attached?” Taron nods his head violently, praying that she trusts Taron enough to let herself live with him. “Okay, let’s try this out.” She smiles and stands up. 

Taron smiles widely. “Al’ight, let’s go, then.”

“Can we get some food first? I’m famished.” Bridget says, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. 

Taron laughs. “Of course we can, the brea’fast is pretty good downstairs.” He says, taking Bridget’s hand in his own and leads her down the hall to the lifts. As the door opens, Taron hands the younger an envelope. “Consider this your first paycheck.” He says, turning to look at the numbers counting down the floors.

Bridget looks at the envelope. “Is this Jamal’s money?” She laughs. 

“Yea, I fi’ured he could pay for the firs’ one, right?” He laughs and leans closer to Bridget. “But, seriously, you should buy some clothes or somet’ing wit’ it. Get yerself back on yer feet.”

The lift dings and he steps out, leading Bridget to the buffet the hotel step up. “Just don’ drop yer plate this time, huh, Bridget?” He says, picking up a plate and handing it to Bridget. 

She laughs and takes the plate out of Taron’s hands, piling it up with eggs and toast and fruit. She sits next to Taron at the table he saw first and started shoveling food down her throat before Taron could even lift his fork. He laughs, but doesn’t say anything as he watches her eat her breakfast. 

Bridget ends up having two or three plates to Taron’s one. They laugh and talk about Taron’s career before Taron’s face falters. “Hey, Bridget, why don’ we head out, yea?” The younger doesn’t ask questions as she stands up and follows Taron out of the room where they hold the breakfast buffets.

“Taron!”

“Fuck.” Taron says, turning around. “Hey, Ryan. Wha’re you doin’ up so early?”

The short man in front of Taron smiles widely. “Hey, good shag, yea? Goin’ home for anoddah round?” He asks, making hand gestures that make Bridget hide her face in Taron’s shoulder. 

Taron wraps an arm behind and around Bridget in an effort to comfort her of his stupid mate’s actions. “Actually, Ryan, I’m drivin’ her home.” He says, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and turning around. “Bye.”

Ryan starts shouting ‘encouraging’ tidbits for Taron to ‘get it up’ and ‘bang ‘er good, mate!’ making Bridget even more uncomfortable on the short walk to Taron’s car. She climbs into the car and closes the door quietly, strapping herself into the seat. Taron signs and climbs in next to Bridget, cranking the car.

“I’m really sorry about him,” Taron starts, “he doesn’t have a filter. Doesn’ know when enough is enough.” He sighs quietly, backing out of the parking spot. He drives mostly in silence, not wanting to make Bridget feel even worse.

They almost reached Taron’s house before Bridget said anything. “Do they all think like that?” She asks.

“Like, what? Like Ryan?” He asks, looking at her at a red light. “No, no, they don’. He’s just a fuckin’ twat. My other friends aren’t as bad as he is.” He says, putting his foot on the gas when the light turns green. “They - they don’ ‘hink like that.” He says.

Bridget stays silent for the remainder of the ride, looking out the window and picking at the chipped nail polish on her fingernails. 

Taron pulls into the driveway of his house and turns off the engine. “I’m really sorry about Ryan, Bridget.” He says, not looking at the girl in the seat next to him.

He frowns when he feels weight on his thigh. Bridget slid the envelope onto his leg and looked out the windshield. “I don’t want it.” She says, fingers twisting in her lap, “give it back to Jamal.”

Taron turns to look at the girl. “C’mon, Bridge, keep it. It’s Jamal’s anyway, he’s the one that paid ya.”

“To get you laid, Taron! That’s my job. You didn’t get laid, I shouldn’t be paid! Give the money back to Jamal.” She says, eyes brimming with tears. 

“Bridget.” Taron starts. “I don’ care. You deserve this money, al’ight? Who cares what Jamal paid you for, it’s yers now.” Bridget doesn’t falter. “Okay, let’s discuss this inside, yea?” He asks, turning to open his door. 

The young girl shakes her head. “Why do you care so much, Taron? You don’t know me! You could’ve just fucked me and threw me out, why didn’t you? Why are you taking me to your house? Why are you being so nice to me!” Bridget shouts, tears finally falling down her face. “I’m just a whore, why should you care!”

“Because I do, Bridget,” Taron says, taking her hands in his. “I care about this young girl who’s father just died. For this girl who’s living on the streets at sixteen. I care that yer selling yerself just to get some food. That’s not fair for you, Bridget. I want to help you, why can’t you just let me help you?” He asks. 

Bridget turns to him with tears running down her face. “Because no one’s ever care for me like you do.” She cries, wetting Taron’s shirt as he pulls her into his chest. 

And if that didn’t break Taron’s heart…


	3. Chapter 3

Bridget had adjusted to living with Taron very easily. 

For the first couple of days, she ignored Taron, only seeing him when he called her down during lunch or dinner. After a few weeks, she had started talking to Taron like awkward friends who haven’t seen each other in years would: asking him about his day, what he wanted for dinner, what movie to watch that night. But, after a month or two, Bridget really started warming up to Taron.

She talked to him like she truly had known him for years. He was truly Bridget’s best friend and the two of them shared lots of laughs together at the dinner table. He told her lots of stories about Colin Firth and Hugh Jackman and every other actor he had filmed with.

Taron secretly loved to make Bridget laugh. Her eyes closed and her nose scrunched up, freckles melting together. Sometimes, if he made her laugh hard enough, she snorted loudly. She always claimed she hated when she snorted, but Taron found it painfully adorable. 

Bridget and Taron had developed an easy system of sorts. Bridget would wake up to find Taron at the kitchen table, reading emails or the news or something on his laptop. Bridget would make small talk as she made breakfast for the two of them. He would then thank Bridget, get dressed, kiss her forehead and leave for work. 

Bridget would either take a walk outside, stay in and read, or watch some tv before he came back. She would often forget about lunch until Taron walked in late, asking for some dinner. The young girl would promptly make dinner as Taron showered. Just setting the dish down, Bridget and Taron would spend dinner talking about his day. After, she would do the dishes as Taron went to the lounge room to pick a movie for the night before going to bed. 

At first, the younger would sit on the couch turned in an awkward angle to the tv. After she and Taron had become better friends, she would start to sit on the loveseat with him. After the first month, Bridget would allow Taron to pull her against his side. 

On the day of Bridget’s birthday and after Taron made her dinner and after he picked Kingsman: Secret Service (which he learned was your favorite movie) and after he pulled her on his lap, he kissed Bridget. He leaned in slowly, looking between her eyes and her lips, trying to decide if it was what Bridget wanted. 

She leaned in, too, and Taron smiled, connecting their lips together. 

Taron smirked and bit his lip when the two separated. Bridget blushed madly, hiding her face in his shoulder as Eggsy started swearing at Charlie. Taron hugged Bridget’s waist tighter and kissed her forehead again.

Taron had stopped paying Bridget for clothes and stuff, suddenly demanding that her boyfriend buys things for her instead of paying for Bridget to live in his house. Bridget started sleeping with Taron, too, liking his master bedroom more than her own closet sized room. Besides, it was a lot nicer waking up in Taron’s arms than cold sheets. 

He liked it too, waking up with Bridget in his arms. He enjoyed watching her pull herself closer to him and loved to kiss her forehead every morning in greeting. 

Although they were happy Taron had finally found someone to love, his friends were still very weary of him dating an ex - prostitute that was years younger than him. They were - eventually - okay with it though because Bridget made them food and gave them beer.

Although she was - very - comfortable with Taron and this relationship they had together, Bridget couldn’t shake the feeling that she were way too young for him. Bridget asked him not to tell anyone about her, and if he did by some chance, she begged him not to tell them about her age. 

He complied, although confused as to why Bridget wanted to hide herself from other people. He understood the age different could be a lot for someone to digest, but he was sure that people would accept his relationship with her no matter the age difference. Bridget was almost eighteen now - in a few more years she would probably have to come clean with her relationship with Taron and her age. 

When Bridget first met his family, she pleaded to tell them she was older. Taron agreed, telling his family Bridget was twenty one. They believed Taron, but she felt bad for lying to them, so Bridget didn’t often meet up with them, just letting Taron go by himself for most occasions. 

Taron was right when he said he was away often. He was gone more than he was home. He texted and called as much as he could, but it was hard with his crazy schedule. The both of you missed each other like crazy and wished the other was with them. Bridget missed waking up in his arms, he missed her homemade cooking and dishes. 

When he got home though, he and Bridget were inseparable. He never let her out of his arms, always loving and kissing Bridget until she had to leave to buy groceries or something. 

One morning, when Taron was home, Bridget turned to him in bed. He smiled sleepily and kissed her nose. Bridget curled in his arms, wrapping herself around his waist, legs twisting together with his under the blankets. He kissed the crown of her head multiple times, whispering how much he loves Bridget with each kiss. 

Bridget smiles and kisses his shoulder, mumbling how much she missed him and how much she love him. He smiled and tugged Bridget on top of his lap, smiling up to the girl seated on top of him. “I love you so much, Bridge.” He mumbles, pulling Bridget down to rest his face in her neck.

Bridget laughs, running her fingers through his messy bed hair. “I love you, too, Taron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry ended so poorly. 
> 
> If you wanna send requests, I could write them for you - just ask away~


End file.
